They both laugh.
The polite smile slides off my face. My mouth is dry, my cheeks on fire. Leland is possessive, but he likes me to be desired by other men too. It helps him with the business.
“Hell, show me where to sign,” says the man to my right.
Everybody in earshot laughs, the sound shaking the table. I can’t move. The laughter echoes as they banter back and forth. Apparently,that’s funny, the thought of Leland letting them see me like that. This is a huge joke to all of them.
It’s not a joke to me.
The laughter goes distant. I’m alone at the table, trying not to let my tears fall.
Crack.
My porcelain teacup heart breaks.
Hands steady, I take another sip of wine to bring me back. At this rate,I’m going to be one of those wealthy wives who stays just drunk enough to get through the day.
Leland’s hand grips my thigh hard. The conversation shifts away from me to something else. I stay put until the dishes are cleared away and everybody gets up to go have drinks in the den.
I go last. Leland went first, but he comes back, cornering me in the hall.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Just tired from the wine.”
“You’re a liar,” he says. “You didn’t like what I said.”
I look away, then correct myself. He hates that.He tells me to look him in the eyes when we speak. He puts his hand on my waist, and my breath hitches.
“How do you think I pay for all this?” he says.
All this?
“What?” I whisper.
He runs his hand from my waist to my shoulder, unhooking the straps of my dress. The cowl neck falls, exposing the lace lining of my bra.
“You never look at price tags,” he says, voice low. “You get to walk around with your head empty because of me. So you be a good girl and say yes sir when I tell you to behave.”
I nod.
“Good girl,” he says, cupping my breasts. He bends in and kisses me, and I feel something, a tiny spark in the darkness—not love, not lust, but hope that his feelings are enough to protect me from himself.
Leland loves me, I think. He just doesn’t know how to love very well.
Hepulls back. “You go upstairs to bed. I’ll be up later. Stay awake and don’t change, Del. You look too good in that dress not to fuck.”
I nod,because nothing he says surprises me anymore. His wife is a beautiful, fuckable doll to him. He brushes my lower lip with his thumb, and then he’s gone, striding down the dark hall. Pulling my dress back up, I circle the back way to the south staircase. Only once I’m in our room do I release the breath I’m holding and sink down at my vanity.
I want to rip everything off, but I can’t. Instead, I pull a mini bottle of vodka from the drawer and take a sip, telling myself it’s alright. That I’m not coping. That sip turns into the whole bottle, until I’m slumped in the chair with my head back, staring at the ceiling.
The worst part isn’t that he’s making me a drunk. It’s that by the time he comes upstairs to lay me down, I’ll be sober again.
NOW
I’m startled out of my sleep by Jensen shooting upright. He inhales, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. His head dips, cross tattoo on his ribs exposed. My brain is fuzzy. It feels like Leland was there while I slept.
“Hey,” I whisper.
